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Gypsy Verses. By Helen Hay Whitney. Gypsy Romance, Love, Hardship and Dreams. FREEBeyond the hill the hearth fires burn,A hundred flags in air,But one which tossed but yesterdayIs dead, one hearth is bare.The wife whose fingers fed the fireGrew weary of the play,A lad laughed thro' the open doorAnd stole my dear away.And now alone I face the road;No hearth, no home for me.And yet-Ah Life!-come sun, come rain,My beggar soul is free.THE GYPSY BLOODBecause the lover cares for daffodilsMust we be stranger to the passion flower,Or slight the iris, dewy from a shower?The gypsy heather bloom upon the hillStrikes fiercely on a gypsy heart, and thrillsNew argosies of dreams to sail the hours.No rosy perfume blown from garden bowersMay bear the subtle perfume this distills.Must we forego the dreamy twilight starsBecause the true-love lives for morning sun?Love dare not hold the sense behind such bars.The moon drips scented petals on our hair,And gypsy hearts to gypsy flowers must runWhile life is everything, tho' love be fair.